The Quietest Weasley
by Spiralling-Down
Summary: Drabbles taking place throughout the life of Percy Weasley. Is he really the pompous prat we all know and  possibly  love, or is there some actual personality hidden underneath? How did he become the way he is?


**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is ruler of all. I own nothing.**

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><p><em>22<em>_nd__ August 1977_

It was Percy Weasley's first birthday. He was a sweet natured baby, and he had never cried as much as his older brother Charlie. This was a relief to Molly Weasley, who had grown to dread the full-blown tantrums that had inevitably followed any minor problem when Charlie was a baby.

Molly watched as Percy sat giggling in his highchair, blinking at the constant stream of aunts, uncles and cousins who had come to celebrate. He liked visitors, which was definitely a useful characteristic to have for anybody growing up in a family as large as the Weasleys.

Molly placed a hand protectively over her stomach. She was pregnant again, and despite Muriel's haughty disapproval that she was going to have a fourthchild, she was happy. When Percy was born, she had been worried that he wouldn't really learn how to socialise with other people, because of the large age between him and his two older brothers. Of course, Bill and Charlie loved Percy, but by the end of the year they would have reached the ripe old ages of seven and five, and therefore they regarded themselves as being much too grown-up to join in with Percy's games. And after all, by the time Percy was eight, they would both be off at Hogwarts. But that didn't matter any more, because now Percy would have a little brother or sister much closer to his own age, and Molly hoped they would become just as close and Bill and Charlie were.

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><p><em>22<em>_nd__ August 1984_

Percy sat under an apple tree in the orchard behind the Burrow. He was reading the book that his parents had given to him earlier that day. He was perfectly contented there. He loved being part of a different, exciting world, which gradually revealed itself to him, shaped in his imagination by each word he read. This was a world in which younger twin brothers didn't paint walls with the mixture that was _meant _to be for your birthday cake, and older brothers didn't obsessively agonise over whether or not they would be sitting in the Gryffindor common room this time next month…

This thought had only struck Charlie last night, and he was making such a fuss about it that, along with the birthday cake fiasco, the day was becoming a nightmare for Molly and Arthur Weasley. In fact, what with Bill teasing Charlie about the Sorting, Fred and George wreaking havoc in the kitchen, and Ron and Ginny playing a very noisy game that appeared to involve several gnomes, Molly hadn't even noticed Percy slip out into the garden, when he should have been celebrating with his family.

Percy laid down his book and wondered why he didn't fit in. When Fred and George were born, instead of having a new playmate, Percy had ended up trapped between two brothers too old to play with him and a pair of inseparable twins, who had no time for anybody else to help them plan what to blow up next. There weren't many other magical families living nearby, and Molly and Arthur had always taught their children themselves instead of sending them to Muggle schools, so Percy had simply become quieter and quieter with no one to talk to, and had started to drift off into his own mind more frequently. Sometimes, he didn't even feel like he was a real member of the family, and very occasionally he actually wondered if he'd become invisible. He was much too sensible to think that for long, but, if he was honest, he sometimes worried that his siblings just didn't _like_ him enough to want to talk to him. He was quite comforted to have a reason for it that didn't involve himself simply being too dull for anyone to bother with.

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><p><em>1<em>_st__ September 1987_

Percy wondered if he should feel scared. He knew most First Years were terrified going into the Sorting Ceremony – he could see it written over their pale faces – but somehow all he felt was a sort of nervous anticipation. He needed to know for sure what house he was in, but his opinions were divided. He wanted to be in Gryffindor, because it was expected of him to be in the house where Weasleys were always placed, and because he'd heard so many stories about it – the common room, Nearly Headless Nick, Professor McGonagall, Godric Gryffindor – not only from his parents but also from his brothers. There was also a small voice in his head that whispered to him that maybe, just maybe, he would finally belong in his family if he proved he was a brave, bold Gryffindor, just like them. But then another corner of his mind wondered if he would do better in another house, well away from the family he never matched. He quite liked the idea of Ravenclaw… Perhaps he would go there.

Percy's thoughts were interrupted suddenly by Professor McGonagall's voice, calling, "Weasley, Percy."

He took a deep breath and walked past the two other remaining First Years to the front of the Great Hall. He sat down on the stool, and McGonagall dropped the old Sorting Hat onto his head.

"Well you are interesting, aren't you?" said a voice in Percy's ear without hesitation. "Unusual for a Weasley. Normally I put you straight into Gryffindor. But you… Plenty of ambition, and I sense you would do a lot to get your own way..."

_Do you mean Slytherin? You can't mean that! My parents would be so disappointed… I – I wanted to make them proud. For once._

"You care that much about them? Perhaps you're not Slytherin material after all, if you're so set against it… You're definitely not a Hufflepuff – you don't have the right kind of loyalty for that. You care, but you would hurt your friends and family if you thought it would do you good. So, that leaves us with two choices."

The hat paused, waiting for Percy's response.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

_I want to be a Gryffindor, but I don't know if I'm… enough like them._

"Oh, you have bravery. You're more similar to your family than you think – it's just buried deeper in your personality. In any case, a Ravenclaw would have reasoned out the differences between the two houses and tried to make a decision for me quite some time ago. Yes, remember my choice – you'll need to find that bravery one day."

_You mean I really am..?_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_Thank you._

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><p><em>22<em>_nd__ August 1995_

Molly Weasley stood in one of the many bathrooms in Grimmauld Place. She took deep, shaking breaths, tears pouring down her cheeks. It was Percy's birthday, but he was gone. Her Percy had stormed out of the house and never come back. He had changed a lot throughout his life, and she knew he was different to the others, but she'd never imagined that he would turn away from his whole family in favour of the Ministry. His bright disposition as a baby had gradually dimmed into quiet solitude, which had eventually become the pompous and officious attitude he had now. She had never realised that he'd changed quite _that_ much, but the screwed up birthday card held in Molly's hand was proof.

Percy sat in his office writing a paper for the Minister. His face was held in a look of stiff formality, but his hand gripped his quill hard, knuckles white, and his insides twisted with shame. He should never have sent back the card. It was just spiteful. But Percy held to his beliefs that the Ministry was right – that Harry Potter was an unhinged maniac who couldn't be trusted, and that if his family had fallen into his trap, then it was no place for himself. He had never really belonged anyway. He had often thought that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were a bigger part of the family than he was, even before he left. He was sure they didn't miss him. Percy remembered the Sorting Hat's words, so many years ago, and his stomach squirmed in discomfort again. Maybe he should have been in Slytherin after all… And even if he wasn't a proper Weasley any more, the idea still made his toes curl up in horror.

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><p><em>6<em>_th__ May 1998_

Percy stood at the entrance to the graveyard. The figure of his little brother was just visible, hunched over a new grave. Percy's throat constricted, but he drew himself up to his full height and forced a composed look over his face. He wanted to go forwards, to finally act like the older sibling he had never had a chance to be, but he couldn't bring himself to approach George. He couldn't even begin to face the fact that the moment he had worked out what a prat he had been and come back to his family, he had messed up their lives again. When he had returned, Fred had replaced him as "the missing Weasley son". Percy couldn't help but blame himself for that. Perhaps if he'd stayed away, someone else would have been with Fred – George, in all likelihood – and they would have saved him. He couldn't fool himself into believing that his family were pleased to have him back. He knew they'd always preferred Fred; nobody had ever wanted to spend any time with Percy. He was only a sore reminder of what the Weasley family had lost in accepting him back. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Percy had sunk to the ground while these thoughts circling round his mind, but suddenly he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked up at George's red eyes and tear-stained face.

"Come inside, Perce. No point staying out here. It's not going to change anything." George's voice was tired, and more defeated than Percy had ever heard it. He'd give anything for the twins to be teasing him again, making fun of his status as a Prefect, or his hard work.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault." The words felt wrenched from him. He couldn't bear to turn and see the confirmation of his guilt he knew would be etched into his brother's expression.

George didn't shout. He didn't tell Percy he wished he was dead. In some ways, Percy wished he had, because instead of a reaction he could cope with – yelling, even violence – George broke, and crumpled into Percy's arms. Percy almost recoiled sharply at the shock, but caught himself just in time. And when he looked, really looked, he could finally see that he wasn't the only one who blamed himself. For the first time in his life, he wasn't alone. He just wished it had been different.

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><p><em>1<em>_st__ September 2017_

Percy stood next to the scarlet steam engine, waving at his daughter Molly through the window. She was off to her first year at Hogwarts, and couldn't be more excited. Lucy, his other daughter, stood next to her mother, clutching her hand and trying not to look miserable at the prospect of a year without her sister before she was allowed to go to school too. Percy couldn't quite believe that this time next year it would only be himself and Audrey at home. It was going to be different, so he coped in his own way – by lecturing anybody who would listen about broomstick regulations and the dreadful lack of foresight of those who seemed to think it was appropriate to carry a new broom straight through a packed Muggle station without even a simple disillusionment charm.

"Really," he said loudly, "They think they can complain, but it's made perfectly clear in Regulation 19b of the Magical Transportation Act of 1673 that any form of transport that can draw attention to a witch or wizard should be avoided or hidden when in contact with Muggles. If they think a Muggle won't notice a Nimbus 5000… Personally, I think the manufacturers should make more of an effort with glamour spells, instead of spending all their time polishing the handles, for crying out loud."

He saw his younger brother Ron swerve suddenly in another direction upon hearing his rant, and pretended not to have noticed to spare him any embarrassment. Internally, however, he deflated slightly at the idea that his family still saw him as the pompous git he had been for years. He couldn't blame them – the damage had been done and it couldn't be reversed now.

Really though, with his wife and daughters, he was the happiest he had been since he was a toddler. Finally, finally, he had somewhere he belonged. Even Molly sometimes noticed a look in his eye, that kind of gleam that you can only get when you know someone cares about you and depends on you, which she hadn't seen in Percy for almost forty years. At last, as Percy waved off his oldest child, he knew he mattered.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I could never really believe that Percy was so different from the rest of his family just by chance. Thinking about it, I'm pretty sure that he would have become quite a bit quieter because of growing up in between brothers quite a bit older than him who were obviously very close, and Fred and George. I think I overdid it, but I wanted to explore the idea that he could have been more like the rest of his family. This isn't really a proper story, because I have exams and haven't had a huge amount of time recently, but I will be doing something with an actual plot after they finish! I just have to think one up… Anyway, I always love reviews, so please tell me what you thought! :)<strong>


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